


Intersection

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Crush, Gen, Mentor Severus Snape, POV Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Short Severus & Percy bit.
Relationships: Severus Snape & Percy Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 100





	Intersection

“But if three is a more magically charged number, then–”

“Mr Weasley,” Severus said, gesturing with one hand - needlessly flamboyant the sort of thing he would never do in class, “the potions ingredients do not understand arithmancy and its tenets. Nor, indeed, does a cauldron, a stirrer. The number of times you stir the mix is to do with the diffusion of your ingredients throughout the solution, and the speed at which they interact. I would be the first man to assent that arithmancy is useful to the study of truly excellent potioneering, but the extent to which its effect has been blown out of proportion by _fools_ who misunderstand the most _basic_ ingredient interaction… One moment.”

The boy was making copious notes, bent over one of the Muggle notebooks his father had undoubtedly bought for him, and Severus wondered idly what complaint Lucius would make, that Severus should spend so much time indulging the questions of a Weasley.

There were never many students in a year that engaged so well with the subject, and were genuinely interested in it - Weasley lacked a natural flair for the art of potioneering, but the engineering of every potion plainly interested him, and a passionate curiosity always overwhelmed a passionate disinterest. 

This year, his most promising NEWT students were Percival Weasley and Soren Fottrell, a Ravenclaw boy who was already innovating of his own accord. Weasley was no innovator, but he was keenly interested in the interaction of one potion with the next, and Severus had no doubt the man would be a passionate director of health and safety in the case of potions, wherever he ended up.

It was far from unpleasant, to speak genuinely, without having to hold his tongue or be overly polite, about the craft. Weasley was undeterred by Severus’ impatience, when it showed itself: he did not flinch away on the rare occasions Severus chose to speak at length, but looked at him eagerly, on the very edge of his seat. 

It was… flattering. Pleasant. To be treated as an authority not merely because of his demeanour, but because of his _craft_, his expertise… 

Severus’ gaze trailed to the clock on the wall as he plucked the correct book from the shelf, one about the intersection of arithmancy and potioneering, and where the influence of the latter was vastly overemphasised. It was some time past one o’clock, and he felt his lips part, wondering when so much time had passed.

Weasley had entered some minutes after nine. 

Turning to address the boy, to bid him take his leave, he felt himself stop, stockstill. Weasley, in the uncomfortable, high-backed chair that Severus had placed before his desk, was asleep, hunkered forward over his notebook, his quill dripping spots of blue down his wrist. His back curved, his elbows against his knees, a red and gold sack of freckles and bones. 

“Severus,” said Minerva, pushing the ajar door entirely open, “are you still marking at this hour? I… Mr _Weasley_! It is one in the morning!”

Weasley shot up straight, an embarrassed flush painting his cheeks, and Severus wordlessly passed him the book, stepping back to allow him to rush out of the room, which he did, before rushing back, and mumbling, “Thank you, Professor, I’ll have it back to you by Monday.”

Severus drew his watch out of his pocket, not quite convinced. The watch, accusingly, read fourteen minutes past one.

“Severus,” Minerva murmured, lips shifting into a smirk. “Are you making my few rule-enforcers break the curfews themselves?”

“He asks a great many questions,” Severus said, putting his watch away. “Perhaps, Minerva, were your Gryffindors not so dunderheaded, it might not have taken so long.”

It was plain that Minerva did not take his ire as genuine. Her smile widened slightly, and Severus turned his face away, stoppering the ink bottle Weasley had been writing from and putting his own papers aside. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” Minerva said, “when they really _engage _with the subject?” A beat passed, and then she added, with a delighted satisfaction that made Severus scowl, “With their tutor?”

“Good night, Minerva,” Severus said, not turning to face her, and he heard her laugh as she stepped from the room. 


End file.
